


Warm and Wilder

by Sass_Master



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean, Established Relationship, Happy Ending, Lack of Communication, Light Angst, M/M, Manhandling, Misunderstandings, POV Alternating, Panty Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-16 15:37:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5831173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sass_Master/pseuds/Sass_Master
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s intoxicating to have Dean pliant and moaning beneath him, pulling him closer for desperate kisses. It makes Castiel want <em>more</em>, to push harder, wring every ounce of pleasure he can out of Dean, leave him a spent, shaking mess. Those thoughts alarm him sometimes, always aware of the otherworldly strength he possesses, constantly fighting to keep it in check.</p>
<p>“Shit, Cas,” Dean says afterwards, voice shaky. “You sure like throwing your weight around, huh?” he mutters, pressing tentative fingers to his hips, his delicate neck, already mottled with purple from Castiel’s overeager mouth.</p>
<p>Dean will have <em>marks</em> because of him, has them already, blooming bright on his smooth skin. This is exactly what Castiel was worried about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was written at the request of my most darling friend, Rachie. I really enjoyed writing it so I hope you all enjoy reading it too =)

Castiel had never quite understood the appeal of sex before Dean. It’s surprising, the way he gets swept up by it now, lost in the intimacy, the visceral feeling of _lust_ , but this is still new for Castiel, new for _them_. Physically satisfying Dean had been easy enough to get the hang of – Dean is so wonderfully _responsive_ , as it turns out, open for Castiel’s exploration, sensitive to his touch – but Castiel still has so much to learn. He knows there’s a wealth of ways to get creative with this, things he hasn’t even begun to delve into or examine, and he can’t wait to find out what there is to offer, discover every possible way to bring Dean to ecstasy.

But just this is intoxicating, _addictive_ , to have Dean pliant and moaning beneath him, pulling him closer for desperate kisses. It’s humbling that he can reduce Dean to such a state with just this human body, no heavenly powers whatsoever – just his hands, his mouth, his _cock_ so swollen with arousal, putting that to _use_ in a way he’d never been compelled to do before. They’ve only been apart for a short while and he can’t believe how these urges have gnawed at him since the last time they’ve done this, how fiercely he’s been craving Dean in his absence, that he aches for this now that he’s had a taste.

Castiel’s wild for the way he fills Dean up, that Dean places such trust in him, lets him finds his way into the soft, vulnerable spaces, seek them out with his fingers and his lips and his _teeth_. It makes Castiel want _more_ , to push harder, wring every ounce of pleasure he can out of Dean, leave him a spent, shaking mess. Those thoughts alarm him sometimes, always aware of the otherworldly strength he possesses, constantly fighting to keep it in check, especially as he gives himself over to this, as he does ever more easily each time. The carnal sensations are enjoyable but oh, _Dean_ , he’s magnificent, sinful perfection – the satisfying give of his flesh, the _heat_ of him, his hoarse cries in Castiel’s ear. He gasps as Castiel encircles his wrists, pins them above his head, bears him down into the mattress, driving into him harder, trying to keep up with his body’s demands, with the inescapable allure of Dean falling apart beneath him, his eyes hooded, seeking out Castiel’s with his own before he pinches them shut, overwhelmed.

Dean’s moans and bitten off curses reach a crescendo as Castiel slides a hand down and takes hold of him in a firm grip, feels Dean pulse against his palm, already leaking from arousal. It only takes a few strokes and then _yes_ , there’s the undeniable proof of Dean’s pleasure staining Castiel’s fingers, smearing their stomachs, Castiel’s name a sigh on Dean’s perfect, pink lips.

Castiel quickens the pace of his thrusts, seeks his climax in the tight squeeze of Dean’s body. He holds onto Dean’s hips and angles them to his liking, fingertips digging in hard, biting down on the nearest swath of skin to muffle his groans because it’s so much, so _good_ , Dean, _Dean._

Dean’s still panting, faintly trembling as Castiel twitches through the last few aftershocks, hissing as Castiel pulls out and rolls onto the mattress beside him. Castiel glances over, intending to gather him close, if Dean doesn’t beat him to it and wriggle up next to him, but Dean’s still on his side of the bed, eyes distant, glazed over.

He looks – well, Castiel isn’t sure. Dean’s inscrutable at the best of times, and Castiel’s lexicon for this part of their relationship hasn’t reached its full potential, still leaves him floundering on occasion.

“Shit, Cas,” Dean says, voice shaky. “You sure like throwing your weight around, huh?” He trails off into a short laugh that sounds weak to Castiel’s ears, disconcertingly hollow. “Gonna be sore as hell tomorrow,” he mutters, pressing tentative fingers to his hips, his delicate neck, already mottled with purple from Castiel’s overeager mouth.

It takes a moment for Castiel’s brain to catch up, to register what’s happened. Dean will have _marks_ because of him, has them already, blooming bright on his smooth skin. This is exactly what Castiel was worried about. He had no idea he was being so rough, so _careless,_ but the evidence is right in front of him. Dean’s gingerly massaging his wrists, not looking Castiel in the eye, shifting on the bed and wincing, biting his lip, as that seems to set off a twinge – whether it’s from Castiel spreading his legs open or sliding into him too forcefully, he doesn’t know.

When Dean finally looks at Castiel again his eyes are wide and a little glassy. He lets go of his wrist, as if embarrassed to be caught, and immediately avoids Castiel’s gaze again, the pink flush on his cheeks persistent, expression suddenly closed off.

Castiel’s ashamed of himself for hesitating to put it right, the way he’s withdrawn, letting himself be stunned into guilty silence. He wants to reach out and pick up where Dean left off, massage the soreness out of his tender wrists, his legs, but he _can’t_ , repulsed by himself, uncertain if Dean would even welcome his touch right now, when he’s the one who did the damage in the first place. Castiel doesn’t know what to say, there aren’t _words_ to sum up what he’s feeling, the churning in his stomach. “I—”

“Anyway,” Dean says, cutting Castiel off before he can stumble through some sort of apology. “I’m pretty tired.”

Castiel recognizes that look, at least, the one that means Dean does _not_ want to talk about it. Castiel’s selfishly grateful for the reprieve, which only intensifies his shame, the sick feeling in his gut.

Dean’s still not meeting his eyes. “I dunno if you’re planning on staying, or…” he says vaguely, trailing off.

Castiel doesn’t _need_ to sleep, but that doesn’t mean he can’t – he chooses to often enough, has been known to spend the night with Dean even if he does stay awake, just holding him. It feels like the moment for that has passed, if it were ever there to begin with, and Castiel doesn’t know how to get it back. The pleasant haze that normally follows their encounters is souring, the rush settling into a faint buzz as usual, but it’s gone all _wrong_ this time. Dean’s expression is still unreadable, but it’s clear enough now that it isn’t anything good, his words not at all like any other night he’d broach the subject of Castiel staying, usually so warm and _hopeful_. They don’t sound like much of an invitation, right now.

“I think,” Castiel says carefully, “I might go.” He has no intention of inflicting his presence of Dean if that’s not what he wants. Castiel doesn’t deserve the comfort of Dean’s bed right now anyway. “I was in the middle of research before—” before Dean wandered in and distracted him, before they moved to the bedroom, before Castiel got overzealous and _hurt_ him.

“Right,” Dean says abruptly. “Better get back to it then.”

Castiel nods faintly, notices that it’s not easy for him to look at Dean either. Awkward, Castiel realizes, this is _awkward._ He’s had a reputation for causing awkwardness in the past, but he’s never felt it so keenly before and it is _excruciating_ – especially with Dean, especially at a moment like this one, when they’re usually all loose limbs and easy smiles, miles of Dean’s skin pressed up against his, bare for his gentle caresses.

“Okay.” His own voice sounds false, far away. “I will.” Castiel’s clean and dressed with a thought, desperately wants to take it one step further and simply vanish from the room.

Instead he walks away and quietly closes the door behind him, the image of Dean’s stricken face following him like a specter as he walks through the halls, sequestering himself in the library.

Castiel chooses not to sleep that night.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean hardly sees Cas around the bunker at all the next day, and when they do cross paths it’s… _off_. Neither of them can really look the other in the eye, their conversations brief and stilted, once-easy and familiar touches now cold—uncomfortable— or absent altogether. Cas keeps to himself or holes up in the library with Sam, seems to conveniently disappear whenever Dean steps into the room. He doesn’t even join Sam and Dean for dinner. Sure, he doesn’t need to eat, but he usually shows up anyway just for the togetherness of it, always praises Dean’s cooking until he blushes even if his palate is, well, complicated.

So that night Dean finds himself stripping down for bed _alone_ , too prideful and ashamed all at once to find Cas and ask him to join. He sheds his shirt thoughtlessly, tossing it in with the laundry, but when he slips his jeans off, his eyes are drawn to the dark marks on his hips, his thighs, the smattering of hickies and fingerprints. He’s hard all at once just from the sight of them, last night still fresh in his mind, even more vivid when he presses his fingers into a bruise, feels the renewed ache.

Christ, Cas was something else last night, a goddamn force of nature as he held Dean down and fucked him blind. It _thrills_ him that Cas isn’t gentle. Well, he _is_ gentle most of the time, has often touched Dean with reverence, kissed him slow and soft, cradled him close and stroked his hair. And that’s so _nice_ , Dean’s got no complaints whatsoever, but it’s appealing to think that Cas is capable of other speeds too, of pinning Dean beneath him, sinking his teeth in.

Dean’s spread out on the mattress and inching his boxers down before he even thinks about it, arousal coiling tight in his belly at the sense memory of Cas’s huge hands spreading him wide. Dean doesn’t waste any time, teases his cock it until it’s drooling onto his fingertips and he’s arching his back, thrusting into his own touch.

Alone, with nothing but his own thoughts, he can admit he’s always liked being pushed around a little in bed, usually by women who wouldn’t be able to budge him if he didn’t allow it, and a couple of men who probably could – that was always even more exciting, the idea that they were _actually_ capable of overpowering him, but it was more dangerous too, not always a risk he was willing to take. But Cas is so _strong_ , more powerful than any of them by miles. He could easily lift Dean off the ground like he weighs absolutely nothing, hold Dean up against the wall while he fucks him without even breaking a sweat. And Cas isn’t a possible liability like some random dude at a bar—Dean can actually let his guard down and really put himself into Cas’s hands. Cas might be able to throw him around and then some but he’d never _hurt_ Dean.

Dean’s getting into it now, stroking himself fast but steady, trailing his other hand down and nudging between his legs. He just barely teases himself open with the tips of his fingers, hissing at the pleasant sting – fuck, he’s still a little sore, Cas really gave it to him _hard,_ he thinks dazedly, stifling a moan, toes curling. He can still feel Cas inside him every time he shifts on the bed, found himself deliberately squirming all day, as often as he could get away with.

Dean doesn’t know how long Cas plans on avoiding him. He could come strolling into the room at any moment and oh, shit, Dean kind of _wants_ to get caught like this, wants Cas to stride over and wrench his hands away, leave him a new ring of bruises, wrap his fingers around Dean’s cock and take over, not let Dean come until he’s fucking _sobbing_ , until he begs for mercy. That new fantasy, the still-overwhelming images of the night before, are more than enough to get him off, spilling onto his stomach and up his chest with a strangled cry, hips twitching restlessly. Dean closes his eyes for a few moments and lets his breathing even out, shuddering in the aftermath.

He’s still alone. Cas didn’t catch him in the act, hasn’t come to bed at all. Dean can’t say he’s surprised. And without the fog of arousal clouding his judgement he realizes that’s probably a good thing, that Cas didn’t see him like this, didn’t see him quite literally getting off on being all bruised up, held down and manhandled. Dean had been riding high on it last night, spent but still _unbelievably turned on_ as he traced the achy spots with his fingers. He’d been imagining the way they’d darken up by morning, leave a physical reminder of their night together, how much _power_ Cas exerts, finely controlled, used to put Dean in his place, drive him out of his fucking mind.

That all flew out the window the second he locked eyes with Cas, registered his expression of mild disgust. And really, what _is_ wrong with Dean that he likes this, given the way his life’s been, given his history with Cas especially? No wonder it freaked Cas out, considering all the times they’ve left bruises on each other and _worse_ in far less pleasant circumstances, and there Dean was actually _enjoying_ the rough treatment.

Dean had hoped that there were things he could safely explore with Cas, certain unconventional proclivities, new sides to himself that even he hasn’t fully delved into – thinking of the lacy pink panties shoved into the bottom of his sock drawer, next to the vibrator he hasn’t worked up the nerve to try, still in its discreet packaging. But it makes sense that this crosses a line, that Cas got a glimpse of Dean’s more secret desires, at who he _is_ when the walls are down, and he didn’t like what he saw. It fucking figures. It was only a matter of time before Dean scared him off in one way or the other.

Dean misses the warmth of Cas beside him, wants him here but is too embarrassed to ask, doesn’t want to seem so _needy_ on top of everything else. So he spends the night by himself, again—tracing the imprints of Cas’s fingers, coveting the reminder while it lasts—and tells himself that he ought to get used to it.

* * *

Castiel wants to believe that he’s only trying to give Dean space, but he can’t deny his own cowardice. Dean’s always tense when Castiel’s around, posture rigid, jaw clenched, and Castiel can never stand it for long, makes some excuse or another to go elsewhere, to shut the image out of his mind – the reminder that he was given Dean’s vulnerability, given his _trust_ , and so egregiously mishandled them. His inability to own up to his mistake makes the shame resurface, and that doesn’t make things any easier, doesn’t make him any more willing to face Dean.

It’s fascinating and too painfully human how his guilt has snowballed, dredged up other regrets and paranoias that go far beyond one misstep from the other night. Rationally, Castiel knows that Dean has forgiven him for worse throughout their time together. But the part of Castiel’s mind that’s overwhelmed by _emotion_ wonders if it’s even fair to ask for forgiveness anymore. Maybe he should just leave Dean alone. Maybe he’s had his chance to prove he was _worth_ Dean, that he could deserve this, and he bungled it.

So he makes himself scarce, unable deal with the way things are right now but too scared to broach the subject and make it right. The discomfort between them is agony by now. A few days once were once an insignificant speck of time to someone as unfathomably old as Castiel, but with this unpleasant tension they feel _interminable_.

Ordinarily, Castiel has better awareness of his surroundings, but he’s been so distracted as he paces the bunker that he rounds a corner into the kitchen and walks right into Dean. Dean’s caught off guard and Castiel reaches out to grasp his shoulder and steady him, Dean’s own hand landing on Castiel’s chest as he tries to regain his balance. Castiel’s shocked by how the sensation nearly undoes him, how much he’s been missing Dean’s touch, the strength and warmth of his body beneath Castiel’s fingers.

Castiel can only hold Dean’s gaze for a moment, drops his eyes to Dean’s palm braced against him. Dean’s sleeve has slipped down his forearm and there, plain as day, is the dark discoloration from Castiel’s tight grip. His stomach flips shamefully at the sight. The worst part is, if he’s truly honest with himself, he can admit that there was something _appealing_ about the whole thing at the time, something perversely satisfactory even now, the idea of Dean bending to him, bearing his marks. Seeing them now sets off the guilt, certainly, but it also flashes him back to how they got there in the first place, images of Dean flushed and panting suffusing his mind. Castiel had _reveled_ in it, enthralled watching Dean unravel, before he’d realized he’d pushed too far.

The marks elsewhere on Dean’s body are covered (Castiel wants to see those too – but he doesn’t – but he _does_ ) but the shadowed rings around his wrists are perfectly visible and oh, what would Sam think if he saw? Dean catches Castiel looking, and it’s the closest they’ve come to acknowledging what happened, and now that they _have_ Castiel can’t just ignore it anymore.

He dares to place his hand over Dean’s, gently traces his wrist with his thumb. “I can get rid of it,” he says in a breathless rush, practically pleads with Dean to let Castiel heal him, hates this tension between them. He _misses_ Dean. It’s not exactly an apology, and there is a certain amount of selfishness in his offer, but he has to do something to make it right. He doesn’t want to look at the marks anymore, too overwhelmed by conflicting feelings of lust and shame.

Dean looks uncomfortable, expression shuttered, and pulls his hand away almost protectively, tugging his sleeve down. “Don’t worry about it,” he mumbles, taking a step back.

“Dean, please,” Castiel says, desperation leaking into his voice. The last thing he wanted was to upset Dean further. “Just let me—”

“I said it’s _fine_ , Cas,” Dean replies, more forcefully than before, looking like he wants to escape, but Castiel is standing in the doorway, blocking his exit. Dean looks like a cornered animal, and Castiel hates that he was the cause.

He doesn’t know if Dean is trying to punish him or trying to punish _himself_ by refusing the offer. The latter is worse, that Dean might think he deserved that kind of treatment, that it was his fault somehow.

But if this is supposed to be Castiel’s punishment, being left to stew in his own guilt, then maybe he simply ought to accept it. “Perhaps I should go then,” he suggests slowly, “If you don’t need me.” He doesn’t want to bother Dean with his presence anymore, sensing his obvious discomfort. Dean doesn’t want his help, and that stings more than he was prepared to handle.

“Yeah,” Dean says, squaring his jaw, “Don’t let me stop you.”

Castiel longs to reach out to him, to fix things, but he’s deterred by the defiance in Dean’s eyes, the bluntness of his words.

This is for the best, he decides—no matter how it tugs at his heart—as he braces himself for flight and disappears.


	3. Chapter 3

After a couple of miserable days, Dean is forced to admit that maybe he fucked up by encouraging Cas to walk out, by pushing away before Cas did it first. But he couldn’t stand it anymore, the way Cas looked like he was about to be sick every time they crossed paths, the disconcerted little furrow in his brow each time he clapped eyes on Dean. And Cas wanted to heal him, wipe away any traces of the bruises he’d left, and Dean absurdly _hated_ the thought of them being taken away. If that couldn’t be something he gets to have then he at least wanted to enjoy the idea, the _evidence_ , for as long as he could. That obviously didn’t sit well with Cas.

God, being with Cas is the best thing that’s ever happened to him and Dean can’t believe he’s already gone and ruined it – but no, that’s not true, is it, he can _absolutely_ believe the whole thing’s falling apart because of him. This is just what happens, in his experience, an inevitable side-effect when someone tries to get close to him, when Dean dares to hope he can let someone in.

Dean tries to keep busy so he doesn’t have to think about it anymore. He and Sam find a job not too far from home, and only a few hours into investigating they start to worry they might be in over their heads. It’s an excuse to call Cas, and Dean’s desperate enough to seize the opportunity. Waking up in a cold, lonely bed every day has worn down his resolve. Dean waits until he’s alone in the Impala before he fishes his cell out of his pocket and dials, pulse stuttering.

“Dean,” Cas says when he picks up the phone, tone unreadable, and it’s pathetic how Dean’s heart lurches at the sound of his voice.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean replies, proud of himself for keeping his words steady, even if he lapses into silence for a few moments. “Listen, I—” Here he hesitates. He can’t remember the last time it felt so hard to talk to Cas, not used to being so _nervous_. “We could really use some help with this case,” he says, changing tack. “You think you could meet up with us? I hate to ask, I know things have been, uh… kinda weird between us.”

He regrets it as soon as he mentions it, the part of him that dreads seeing Cas right now warring with the part that just wants Cas here, with him, no matter what.

He thinks he hears Cas sigh on the other end. “Yes,” Cas says tightly, “They have been.”

“Right. Yeah.” Dean doesn’t even know what he’s saying, really. He’d hoped that maybe it was all in his head, that the ‘situation’ between them was born from nothing but his own paranoia and insecurities but nope, now he’s gotten himself confirmation otherwise. “But, y’know, uh, maybe we can just move past it and—”

“No.”

“What?” Dean asks, his chest tightening at Cas’s stern tone. Shit, Dean went out on a limb even bringing it up, suggesting that they put it behind them, swallowing his hurt feelings and embarrassment enough to manage giving Cas a call.

The sigh is unmistakable this time. “I only meant—” Cas’s voice catches, he starts again, “We should talk about it, shouldn’t we?” He doesn’t sound thrilled about the prospect either.

Dean’s immediately looking for a way out, ready to deflect. He’ll just keep his comments to himself the next time Cas gets a little rough in bed, he’ll pretend he doesn’t like it, it doesn’t matter. Or he’ll deal with Cas thinking he’s a freak as long as they don’t have to acknowledge it out _loud_. “What’s to talk about?” His faux innocence, his nonchalance, comes out a bit more aggressive than intended.

“I don’t think denial is helpful. We could talk about _why_ things have been… strained.”

“We both know why, Cas,” Dean says hotly, unsurprised to feel anger rising to the surface as a defense mechanism. “Do you just want to hear me say it? That you finally figured out what a mess I am and suddenly you don’t wanna stick around anymore?” He’d only meant to refer to this one specific instance, really, but this is touching on so many bigger issues that Dean’s been wrestling with. “What the hell is there to discuss about that?”

“ _Dean_ ,” – Cas makes a good show of sounding shocked, Dean’ll give him that much – “That is _not_ true.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Cas. You know damn well you’ve been avoiding me. I haven’t seen you in days and when you’re here you can’t even look me in the fucking eye. You seriously gonna tell me that’s _not true_?”

Deans heart thuds through the silence that follows. “I have been avoiding you,” Cas eventually admits, “But it’s—” he seems to struggle with himself, exasperated and slightly confused, “Dean I… I _hurt_ you,” he mutters in frustration, and yep, there it is, the unmistakable hint of disgust.

Dean flinches. “I _know_ , all right?” he spits out, closing his eyes in shame. He was expecting this, but it’s still hard to hear. “I know. And yeah, not sure what it says about me that I… _get off_ on that stuff, but—”

“You what?” Cas says sharply, interrupting him.

Dean leans back in his seat, head thumping against the leather, fight draining out of him. “You heard me, Cas. Just leave it alone.”

“I just—I didn’t know you—” Cas honestly seems taken aback, to Dean’s surprise. “You think… you think _that’s_ what’s bothering me? Why would I have been avoiding you if I thought you’d _liked_ it?”

“I,” Dean’s thrown off now too. He didn’t really think he had to explain this. “I mean, c’mon Cas, that’s kinda fucked up, isn’t it?”

“No,” Cas says, just as adamantly as before. “ _No_ , I don’t think that.”

All the reasons Dean had on the tip of his tongue for _why_ it’s fucked up instantly disappear. Now that his guard is a bit lower he’s catching up on the conversation so far, realizing that he was so sure this whole fiasco was his fault but he was totally _wrong_. “Then—” he struggles to find the words, “What the _hell_ , Cas?”

“I thought I crossed a line,” Cas says softly, after a beat or two and oh. _Oh_ , okay, now Dean’s getting it – _I hurt you_ , Cas had said. “I thought I scared you, Dean. I scared _myself_. I never meant to lose control like that.”

Dean hears the bitterness, the guilt in Cas’s tone clear as day, wants nothing more than to soothe his worries. “You didn’t,” he says, and that’s not a lie. Dean never once felt like Cas even came close to actually losing his grip on his power. Dean would probably be a pile of ash if that had happened. “You just got, uh… enthusiastic. And it was _good_ , okay? I was—” he pauses with a dry, self-conscious laugh, “I mean, I said this already but, fuck, I was really _into_ it.” It was hot as hell to see Cas really go for it like that but still keep his strength in check, always looking out for Dean’s well-being.

“Yes,” Cas says at length, a bit awkward but Dean thinks he hears amused sheepishness in his voice. “I… I see that now.”

“Christ.” Dean laughs again, scrubs a hand over his face, feeling like an idiot, almost giddy with relief. “You could’ve just told me that’s what was bugging you.”

“I was ashamed of myself, Dean. I felt awful.”

“Yeah, because you jumped to the conclusion that you fucked up and went AWOL on me.” He’s not mad, not trying to make any accusations here. Because he gets it, he really does. It might even be a little hypocritical for him to be saying that in the first place.

“It was my mistake for assuming I had upset you,” Cas allows, “But how was I supposed to know otherwise?”

“Well, you had the evidence of how much I liked it all over your hand, buddy,” Dean says, smirking to himself.

“I _always_ make you come, Dean,” Cas replies with a hint of smug pride, and now that the air is clearing, Dean’s starkly reminded of how much he misses Cas, how long it’s been since Cas has really touched him. “That night was no different. And afterward, you were…”

Cas trails off, but Dean can fill in the blanks. He was – yeah, shell-shocked and shifty-eyed, probably difficult as hell to interpret without any hints or frame of reference. And then he shut down, totally closed himself off the moment that he suspected Cas thought badly of him. His behavior over the next few days couldn’t have helped matters either.

Cas keeps going. “You were certainly willing to let me pull away without a fight,” he says mildly, light-hearted enough for Dean to know that Cas isn’t hurling accusations either. “Did you really think that’s all it would take for me to give up on you? A… a _sexual quirk_?”

Dean takes a deep breath and tries for honesty. “I mean, not _just_ that,” he mumbles, and he hopes that’s enough to get the point across for now.

Cas makes a sad, thoughtful noise, and Dean knows he understands, that they’ll save the talk about the more emotional stuff for another day.

Dean swallows, wants to make this right, to avoid going through this ever again if they can help it. “Look, I could… I could stand to be a little more open about that stuff. Like, you know, I’ve _been around_ , sure, but I still get kinda… I dunno, embarrassed talking about it. About _me_ , I mean,” he hastens to clarify. “When it’s… personal.”

Cas hums. “Would it help if… If I asked you more? How you’re feeling, instead of trying to guess?”

“Yeah,” Dean agrees, really liking that idea the longer he thinks about it. That would help both of them a _lot_. “Judgment free zone, right?”

“Of course,” Cas says instantly, and Dean’s sure he’s smiling, just like him, hears the earnestness in Cas’s voice and _aches_.

Dean takes another fortifying breath, figures this is as good a time as any to take this whole open and honest thing for a test drive. “So, just for future reference,” he says, trying to sound casual, “It’s okay to push me a little, Cas. I know how to say no to you. And I know you’d back off in a fucking _second_ if I asked you to. I trust you,” he adds, surprised at the depth of his sincerity.

“I’m so glad to hear that,” Cas breathes. “Your trust is very important to me, Dean.”

“I know, Cas. I meant what I said, so don’t forget it, all right?” And he’s gotta switch it up just a little bit, before things get too heavy. “You didn’t really _hurt_ me, by the way. Sometimes that just happens – I bruise like a peach, you know,” he says cheekily, and he’d wink here, but, well, Cas is still who knows where and can’t actually see him. “And if it _did_ hurt a little bit, uh,” he pauses, knowing there are some nuances to sex that – for now – Cas doesn’t quite get, “Sometimes that feels good too.”

“Thank you for clarifying,” Cas says, seriously. “I want to know about _everything_ you like.”

Dean knows what that means, hours upon hours of thorough exploring and experimenting and yeah, he likes the sound of that. “We’ll get there,” he promises. “Now are you gonna come help us out with this case, or what?”

He doesn’t even startle when Cas suddenly materializes next to him in the passenger’s seat, only leans forward easily when Cas grabs him by the tie, reels him in for a lingering kiss, contrite and grateful, full of promise.

 __* * *

Being with Dean again is a relief on so many levels, a _tease_ because they’re in the middle of a hunt, navigating around research and Sam’s near constant presence. They have options, certainly, in their brief moments alone, but there seems to be tacit understanding that they’ll wait to reunite properly in better circumstances, with real solitude and _time_.

They’ll get to start over, in a sense, work on where they’ve failed each other through poor communication. Castiel’s eager for it, to be better for Dean, to explore some parts of himself that he shied away from before, not understanding. It’s a chance to _experience_ Dean with a greater knowledge of his needs, to go forward together, knowing they’re on the same page. The unpleasantness between them was hard to bear, but the ultimate results could prove to be worth it – suffering through a rough patch to forge a stronger bond, a clearer connection.

“You really don’t think it’s weird?” Dean asks out of the blue one evening, pacing the motel room floor while Castiel’s seated at the table, looking over their latest findings. Sam’s gone out to pick up dinner. Castiel looks up from the laptop, silently imploring Dean to continue. Dean clears his throat, looks down at the carpet. “That I like it when you, uh… rough me up a little.”

Castiel can see the lingering insecurity there, the spark of hope in Dean’s eyes still overshadowed by fear, by doubt. Castiel longs to reassure him, glad that he _can_ now. He wishes he’d been able to do it sooner.

He closes the laptop lid, choosing his words carefully. “Given our personal history, I suppose it is a bit—” he pauses and considers, “— _unexpected._ But I don’t think any less of you for it,” he’s quick to add, rising from his seat to stand in front of Dean. He simply has to reach out and let his fingers brush Dean’s cheek, can’t resist any longer. Dean seems to be encouraged by the contact. Castiel takes a deep breath before continuing. “I realize I’m no expert, but I understand that these things can be… complicated.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Dean says with a huff of a laugh, lips quirking for a moment before his expression becomes serious again. “Look, it’s not like—we don’t… _have_ to, if you’re not cool with it,” Dean offers hastily.

Castiel squashes the remnants of his misguided guilt, holding Dean’s gaze steadily. He cups Dean’s face, feels a warm sense of satisfaction when Dean leans into his touch. “To be honest, part of why I felt so terrible was…” He debates how to describe it, still feeling it out for himself. He’s carefully reevaluating how the sight of his marks on Dean’s skin affects him, shunting aside the initial guilt now that he knows Dean’s okay with it— _more_ than. Castiel clears his throat. “Let’s just say that you weren’t the only one who enjoyed it.”

“Yeah?” Dean asks, a sly, teasing grin appearing on his face. “You like pushing me around, Cas?”

Castiel reflects on what Dean had said the other night, _You sure like to throw your weight around, huh,_ and he thinks he gets it now, that Dean will use his words bluntly, that when things hit too close to home he’ll harbor his own shame and then turn it around on nearest target when he can’t deal with it anymore. But that shame is dissipating fast, and Castiel sees the genuine excitement in Dean’s eyes, not completely veiled by his flippancy. Castiel feels it too, the anticipation of _compatibility_ with these kinds of desires, what that could mean for them in the hopefully-near future.

Castiel leans in and kisses Dean, slow and thorough, humming contentedly as their lips meet. He stays close when he draws back, still cradling Dean’s face in his hands, thumbs tracing his lower lip, his cheekbones. “I like making you feel good,” he says, responding to Dean’s question, if not exactly answering it. He suspects it was mostly rhetorical anyway. “The way your body fits against mine, the way you moan for me. It’s a thrill to watch you fall apart, Dean,” he says heatedly, reveling in the spark of desire evident in Dean’s eyes. “I like knowing I was the one to do that.”

Castiel watches with interest as Dean licks his lips, as a pink flush stains his cheeks. “Shit, Cas,” he says with a breathy chuckle, stepping out of Castiel’s embrace at the sound of a key fitting into the locked door. “Let’s wrap this one up quick, all right?” he says in a hurry, before they’re interrupted. “I might lose it if we don’t get outta here soon.”

“I can’t wait to go home either,” Castiel murmurs warmly, just as Sam enters the room. Castiel doesn’t miss the way Dean’s face lights up when Castiel calls it _home_ and oh, it is so, _so_ good to see Dean smile, to see him look at Castiel with fondness, anxious to have him alone again.

Castiel sees the desire in Dean’s eyes, knows it reflects his own, simmering beneath the surface. This time, Castiel’s certain, there’s no misunderstanding between them whatsoever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter caused less anguish than the last two!


	4. Chapter 4

They’re ready to hit the road a few days later, and although Dean’s pretty sure he and Cas have an unspoken understanding about what they’re hoping for, he’s still thrilled that Cas tags along. When they roll into Lebanon, Dean immediately heads for a long overdue shower, indulging in the hot spray until he finally feels some of his stiff muscles start to unlock. He emerges from the bathroom, half-worried he’ll find that Cas has disappeared on him again, that things between them aren’t as fixed as he thought, but when he steps into his bedroom, Cas is there waiting. He’s lounging on Dean’s bed, coats and tie discarded, collar unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up to expose his thick, tan forearms and _damn_ Dean’s almost zero to sixty just from that image alone. Dean made the right call not bothering with a shirt after his shower, preening under the attention as Cas peruses his body with the usual keen interest, lingering in some areas, possibly looking for traces of his own fingerprints. They’ve mostly faded by now, but if Dean’s reading this right, that’s definitely about to change.

Dean crosses the room to toss his clothes into the laundry pile. “You staying tonight?” he asks, aiming for casual, as if it makes any difference anymore. He can’t really pretend he doesn’t care about Cas’s presence here, and he doesn’t actually want to try. He hasn’t forgotten how Cas called the bunker _home_. And yeah, his mind is fixated on less wholesome activities at the moment but honestly he’s pining for Cas in his bed again in _any_ capacity, buoyed by the way Cas is making himself comfortable, claiming a space.

Cas’s eyes snap to his face. “Is that what you want?”

“Jesus, Cas,” Dean says, not unkindly, with a half-formed laugh. Maybe Dean wasn’t clear enough, the offer too ambiguous—maybe it’s still too much of a habit for him to downplay his eagerness, his buried needs. “ _Yeah_ , that’s what I want,” he says emphatically, because this is part of what they need to work on, that whole _telling each other how they feel_ thing, and he may still cringe over that concept in theory, but in practice, it’s not so bad. Baring his soul, his desires to Cas is a little bit of a challenge but the prospect of hearing all the things _Cas_ likes about what they do definitely holds a certain appeal.

Cas’s gaze meets his, eyes wide and earnest. “So do I,” he says, voice impossibly deep, and yeah, shit, he doesn’t need an involved discussion to interpret that. The way Cas is looking at him is more than enough.

Dean kind of wants to climb on top of Cas right now, doesn’t know how he’s held himself back this long. But Cas’s unwavering stare keeps him rooted to the spot, staying put because he likes the way Cas is rising to his feet, likes the intent, predatory way he stalks over to stand in Dean’s personal space. Dean’s heart pounds at their proximity, and Cas pulls him into a kiss that has him moaning in relief.

Dean could honestly do this forever, especially after all the awkwardness and time apart. There’s always an undercurrent of passion and desperation when they kiss, a sense that they’re making up for so many wasted years. And Dean hates to interrupt, but if they’re really doing this, then…

He pulls back reluctantly, nearly panting into the scant space between them. “Hey, uh. Hold on a sec?” he says, nerves creeping into his voice more than he’d planned. He steps out of Cas’s arms and Cas tilts his head in concern, but waits him out.

Dean’s embarrassed by the way his hands are shaking but he forges ahead anyway, grabs the waistband of his sweatpants and pushes them down. He takes a deep breath as he shimmies out of them, letting them drop to the floor, revealing the delicate pink panties underneath. Fuck, they’re already driving him crazy—he’s half-hard and then some from the way the fabric rubs up against him, from Cas’s eyes on him, his hands all over, the anticipation of being with him tonight.

The silence stretches on long enough for Dean to worry, to wonder what the hell he was _thinking_ pulling something like this.

But then Cas murmurs _Oh_ , with this soft, adoring look on his face, and Dean reminds himself that this is to show Cas that he trusts him, to make an effort to communicate his hidden wants. This is one of those things he especially can’t expect Cas to figure out on his own.

Cas reaches out, fingers brushing the lacy trim at Dean’s hips, and Dean tries not to whimper. “These are… new,” Cas comments somewhat uncertainly, but not without interest, that’s for sure.

“Yeah,” Dean agrees dazedly, swaying closer to Cas, before he clarifies, “Well, no, not exactly. Had ‘em for a while now.” Cas furrows his brow slightly, looking for more explanation. “I, uh. I like to put ‘em on sometimes,” Dean admits in a rush, pleased that his voice comes out steady.

He can see the gears turning in Cas’s head, how Cas gets that Dean is sharing an intimate secret with him – and a _really_ personal one at that, given the way Dean’s blushing. Cas gathers him close, noses at his jaw, presses a kiss to his pulse point. “Will you tell me about that?” Cas asks gently, lips brushing Dean’s ear. “Tell me how they make you feel.”

Dean could bury his face, mumble some vague answer, and Cas wouldn’t push the issue, but he’s not about to chicken out now. “I’m usually alone when I do this. And I feel like—” he stops to think about it, to find terms that get the point across but don’t mortify him in the process. “Like I’m getting away with something. Like I’m doing something I’m not supposed to but it’s such a _turn on_ that I can’t help myself.” Damn, he’s only blushing more furiously now, but at least he made it through the explanation in one piece.

Cas hums thoughtfully, rakes his fingers through Dean’s hair. “And how do you feel now?”

“ _Vulnerable_ ,” Dean blurts out, surprised at how easily he says it. He wants to berate himself for his word choice, but really, what other way is there to describe it? “In a good way,” he adds, “And still _really_ turned on, for the record.”

Cas just palms his cheek and stares, makes Dean squirm in a way that isn’t unpleasant at all, heat pooling in his stomach. “C’mon, Cas,” he eventually pleads, “Am I doing this by myself here? Tell—tell me what you think about this.”

Cas kisses him indulgently and yeah, Dean’s definitely never going to get tired of that. He’s slow to pull away, cradling Dean’s face between his hands and pressing their foreheads together. “I think that I’m incredibly lucky to be with you,” Cas says, painfully sincere. “You’re everything to me, Dean. And you are _so_ beautiful.” Cas scrutinizes Dean as his blush deepens. Dean wouldn’t have thought it possible for his cheeks to burn any hotter. “Do you like it when I tell you you’re beautiful?” Cas asks, curious.

And yeah, he sure does, but the whole _everything to me_ part definitely has his heart pounding too. “Don’t hate it,” he mumbles, noncommittal, but he’s _trying_.

Cas seems to get it, luckily, smiling at Dean with fondness. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Cas kisses him again, touches him reverently which is so nice, it is, and there will be other times when Dean wants Cas’s tenderness more than anything else in the world, but Dean… Dean’s been looking forward to a do-over of the other day, wants to see how rough Cas will get now that he knows what it does for Dean. Hell, what it does for both of them.

Dean takes it upon himself to get this show on the road, nipping at Cas’s lips, earning a sharp bite and a _growl_ in return. Dean breaks the kiss only to gasp, “Yeah, Cas, c’mon,” wanting to encourage him, to make it abundantly clear that oh, yes, this is what he wants tonight. Dean hums into it eagerly when Cas kisses him again, redoubling his efforts, holding him tighter, one hand sliding down to Dean’s ass and squeezing firmly, proprietary. The thrust of Cas’s tongue is more demanding now, and he breaks away to kiss along Dean’s chin, teeth grazing his jawline, sucking marks into his throat.

Dean readily tilts his head to give Cas better access. Cas slides his fingers back into Dean’s hair, just resting them there, and Dean murmurs, “Yeah, you can—” melting into a pitiful whine when Cas acquiesces, winding his fingers through and _tugging_. Cas seems to back off at the sound, until Dean hisses, “ _Yes_ , like that,” so Cas doesn’t misinterpret, so he does it _again_.

Dean’s luxuriating in the ungentle treatment, realizing how stupid he was for clamming up the other day, for being vague and evasive, because look at what actually _communicating_ gets him. He voices his desires and Cas makes them a reality, oh _hell_ yes. And why should he deny Cas the positive reinforcement? That can’t have been fun for Cas, to expect no feedback unless he’d fucked something up.

So Dean doesn’t stifle an appreciative noise when Cas shoves him onto the mattress and looms over him, blanketing Dean’s body with his own, pinning Dean’s wrists beside his head. “Like that?” Cas asks, making sure, and Dean nods immediately, wrapping his legs around Cas’s waist and rolling his hips up, drawing moans from both of them. Cas rests heavily on top of him, grinds down in sinuous thrusts, and Dean nearly loses it from the friction, tantalizing through the soft material of his panties.

Cas has Dean boxed in with his muscular arms, huge and solid on either side of Dean’s head. Dean knows that Cas doesn’t really get his strength from his physique but it’s still damn nice to look at, nice to _feel_ – well-built shoulders firm under his fingers, biceps flexing, pulling the fabric of his sleeves taut. Cas might be stronger than he looks but he still _looks_ pretty strong to begin with.

Cas has to check in less and less as they go on with the way Dean keeps babbling, writhing just a little bit in Cas’s grip so he’ll bear down _harder_. Cas presses his teeth to Dean’s neck, scratches him up with his stubble, leaves matching hickies and beard-burn on his stomach and inner thighs as he works his way down. Cas hooks his fingers in the waistband of the panties, breath hot and tantalizing through the gauzy fabric, before he carefully eases them down. “Don’t want to ruin them,” he rumbles, glint in his eye, and god, Dean’s created a monster. He can’t say he’s too worried about it.

Dean’s already loving the tenderness in his skin from Cas’s attentions, the way Cas confidently spreads his legs wide with his broad hands so he can fit between, the way Cas’s pants feel rough rasping against his sensitive thighs because, _fuck,_ Cas hasn’t undressed at _all_ since Dean came into the room. Dean could fix that if he really wanted to, slow Cas down and peel him out of his clothes. He reaches into the nightstand and hands Cas the lube instead. Truth be told he kinda _likes_ that Cas can’t even wait long enough to get himself naked. Dean’s patience is wearing thin too.

As Cas slides his slick fingers in, Dean keeps pleading for another, another, doesn’t want to drag this part out too long, wants to _feel it_. And Cas is merciless, opens him up with no hesitation, curling his fingers _just so_ and not letting up with the pressure, leaves Dean moaning brokenly and arching off the bed.  Dean scrambles to get Cas’s belt undone, unzips his pants and inches them down just enough to get a hand around him and slick him up. Dean fucking loves the way he feels throbbing against his palm, Cas is so _hard_ for him and oh, oh, _god_ , the burn is so satisfying when Cas finally pushes into him, the stretch making his toes curl, Cas’s warm, solid weight pressing down on him, leaving him dizzy with pleasure.

Dean’s seconds from begging but Cas doesn’t make him wait, just hitches Dean’s legs higher up his waist and settles into a steady but relentless rhythm. Dean can feel the reigned-in force behind each twitch of his hips and he goes pliant for it, bares his neck for Cas’s mouth again. He’s thrilled that Cas isn’t holding back after his concerns from the past few days. Dean can admit there’s something flattering, something _hot_ about the idea of Cas being so _into this_ that he loses his cool. But this sets Dean on fire in another way, knowing that Cas is mindful of the power he contains, exerting it in a deliberate way that’s meant to drive Dean crazy, exhibiting _total control_.

Dean doesn’t need it like this all the time, still likes it when Cas is careful and gentle – and he always is after the fact, no matter what. But there’s something fun about this too, something undeniably exciting, showing Cas that it’s okay to let go, to push him a little harder, that Dean’s _weak_ for that. It makes Dean feel coveted and _craved._ It makes him feel alive.

Cas’s fingers are tight on Dean’s wrist, on his hips, guiding them together more urgently now, movements getting sloppy. Dean’s got a death-grip on Cas’s shirt, wrinkling the hell out of the fabric, popping another button open. He’s getting louder now, letting out broken whimpers he’d normally stifle, and now that’s he’s started he can’t _stop,_ gasping an endless stream of, “Yeah, _yeah_ , feel so good in me, Cas, love this, please, want it harder, harder, god, _please_ —” crying out, nearly frantic when Cas complies. Dean’s not usually this vocal, used to hiding or playing it cool about how into this he is. But that’s what got them into trouble in the first place – maybe Dean could stand to let go a little too.

“You feel amazing,” Cas murmurs, voice hitching. “I love being inside you,” he breathes, trails his touch down Dean’s torso, strokes him confidently with a wide, calloused hand, sends him hurtling over the edge with a deep moan and a shudder. Dean’s shaking as he comes, breath labored – just about _sobbing_ , it seems, feeling his eyes sting and well up, droplets spilling down his cheeks.

And yeah, _that_ must freak Cas out a little, because he immediately stops moving, still unsatisfied, and studies Dean, brow furrowed. “Dean?” he asks, cupping his face and gently thumbing the tears away – making _sure_ he knows what’s going on, Dean realizes, instead of assuming and closing himself off.

Dean’s still trembling as he tries to compose himself, seeks out Cas’s comforting blue eyes. He’s floored by the depth of emotion he sees there, could get lost in it so easily – he probably _has_ been lost in it for a long time now, and he wonders for a brilliant, fleeting moment if this is what _love_ feels like.  “I’m good, Cas,” Dean says thickly, holding Cas’s gaze, resting his hand against Cas’s cheek, “I’m so good.” Dean pulls him in for a kiss, holds onto him tightly and encourages him to keep going, loving the brutal pace and rough touches, even now that he’s sated. Cas is panting harshly in his ear, just as loud as the headboard rattling against the wall. It’s not much longer before Cas groans loudly and comes, thrusts erratic, spilling hot inside him. Dean strokes Cas’s back as he comes down from his peak, smoothing the hair from his forehead, kissing the nape of his neck, murmuring gently, babbling nonsense and praise and gratitude. Dean clings to Cas and sighs his own pleasure, gratified by every ache and sore spot, feeling well-used and filthy, safe and _whole_.

* * *

Castiel is still learning to trust that Dean will speak up if he doesn’t like something, learning to prompt Dean on his own if he’s especially uncertain. There were moments of doubt tonight, moments when he wasn’t sure if a gasp and a hiss meant pleasure or pain, if the pain was unwelcome or the strange and _enjoyable_ kind. But he’d look into Dean’s gorgeous green eyes, find them dark with arousal, and Castiel would see what he was meant to see, as Dean confirmed it aloud – yes, yes, that’s _good_.

Castiel has taken Dean apart with a greater knowledge of what he harbors inside him, those treasured and secret desires, and now Castiel gets to put him back together again. He needs that, after the roughness, to attend to Dean with utter care and gentleness, and he suspects Dean might need it too.

Castiel caresses Dean’s face, brushes his fingers over the drying tear tracks. He was taken aback by that at first, but he understands that it’s a physical release – an emotional one too, he imagines, even if Dean might not admit to that. Castiel kisses him over and _over_ , never be able to get enough of Dean’s sweet mouth against his own, especially now, denied of this indulgence for what felt like a terribly long time.

They part eventually, only a fraction, still breathing each other’s air. “Did you enjoy that?” Castiel asks, pushing his fingers through Dean’s hair.

“Uh, _yeah,_ ” Dean says, huffing out a laugh, embarrassed. “C’mon, Cas.”

“I thought so,” Cas replies. He’s really trying not to be smug. “I just wanted to be sure.”

Dean pulls back and raises an eyebrow, obviously picking up on the light note of teasing in Castiel’s voice, but his unimpressed look almost immediately softens. “You did too though, right?”

“ _Immensely_ ,” Castiel purrs, leaning in for another thorough kiss. “You were breathtaking.” He’s well aware of how such compliments make Dean blush – that’s part of the appeal for Castiel, helplessly charmed, as always, by the way the pink contrasts with Dean’s lovely freckles.

Castiel’s eyes follow the flush down Dean’s body, observing the marks on his throat, his collar bones, _lower_. Castiel is starting to understand how Dean could wear them with pride, how they were earned through an act of passion, not violence or hatred – the fact that Castiel could have truly hurt him, and easily too, but used his strength to give pleasure instead. They’re a reminder of what they’ve done, where Castiel has _been_ , and he feels a possessive flare of lust at the idea, one he now knows complements Dean’s own desires. Castiel eyes a lovebite near Dean’s shoulder, mind suddenly taken back to the handprint he’d once left. He hadn’t meant to stake a claim of any kind at the time, but he finds himself missing its presence. He wonders if Dean does too.

They can admire the bruises together now, and Castiel pays them special attention, shifts down the bed and kisses each one with reverence, even as he presses with his fingers just to see Dean flush and squirm. Castiel fits his mouth over the lowest one, a red splotch on Dean’s thigh, delighting in the way Dean’s breath catches, and works his way back up, kisses Dean again, takes his hands and kisses each wrist in turn too.

Then he settles back onto the pillows and gathers Dean in his arms, Dean curling into him readily, burying his face against Castiel’s chest. Castiel has missed this, was denied this intimacy, one he especially favors, the last time they were together. He feels a surge of pride and relief that Dean feels comfortable enough to do this.

“Dude,” Dean mumbles against Castiel’s shirt, “You didn’t even take your clothes off.” Dean’s stubble rasps against the fabric as he settles, undoing a few buttons and slipping his hand in, resting warm against Castiel’s sternum.

“Oh,” Castiel says in genuine surprise. That doesn’t occur to him, sometimes, always so _focused_ on Dean and his pleasure, but yes, it might be nice to feel Dean’s skin against his own. “Sorry.”

“Was kinda into it, actually,” Dean admits after a beat, partially muffled against Castiel’s chest. Castiel can understand the appeal of that, Dean bare and vulnerable but still safe in Castiel’s hands, trusting that he’ll be taken care of. “I mean, don’t get me wrong,” Dean says, a grin slipping into his voice, “I like you naked too.”

Castiel smiles too, sliding his hand along Dean’s jaw and tilting his chin up to look at him. “Tell me what else you like,” he implores softly, emboldened by the rekindling heat he sees in Dean’s eyes.

Dean licks his lips, considering. “Well, uh,” he says, trails off for a moment. He’s nervous, _excited_ , and Castiel is right there with him.

He can’t help but think that a few days ago, Dean would have completely dismissed the question, if Castiel would have actually managed to ask it in the first place. Dean reaches for the discarded panties and Castiel doesn’t fail to notice the tentatively fond way he handles the delicate fabric. Castiel’s touched and _honored_ that Dean has shared this with him – they haven’t explored it much, but Castiel expects that will change. He’s looking forward to it.

Dean clears his throat. “These, uh,” Dean says, stopping again, meeting Castiel’s eyes even though it seems to be a struggle at the moment. “These aren’t the only thing I’ve got stashed in my sock drawer.”

Castiel doesn’t know what that means, not yet, but he’s intrigued at the idea nonetheless, thrilled to cover more untried territory with Dean. He smiles wider, feeling light and exhilarated in a way he hasn’t felt in a while, maybe not _ever_ , pleased to see his joy reflected on Dean’s face, his smile radiant. “I can’t wait for you to show me,” Castiel says warmly, heart thudding when Dean’s lips meet his own, overwhelmed by how _good_ it all is, hopelessly in love.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr](http://sass-master-stina.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/bisexualpudding) and I'm always looking to make new friends <3


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